


Where Will We Go?

by Damdamfino



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damdamfino/pseuds/Damdamfino
Summary: Missing scene from season 6.The night Sansa arrives at Castle Black, she tries to convince Jon to fight for Winterfell, and he tries to talk himself out of it. I just like thinking about what happened when they were there, that’s all.Jonsa-ish. Jonsa intended.





	Where Will We Go?

**Author's Note:**

> I like thinking of little scenes that happened at Castle Black before Jon and Sansa headed South. I have a few more ideas and scenes I want to do, but I think this is fine as a one-shot. It’s not obvious shipping fodder since it’s quite soon after their reunion.  
> Big thanks to GoodForTheSoul (here on AO3) for beta reading!

  
His mind would not quiet. He did not know exactly what kept him from sleeping, but Jon could only stare at the blackened, cracked ceiling until he finally resigned to his misery and dressed to walk outside. Ghost dutifully rose and followed him, the direwolf refusing to leave his side.

It was cold out on the landing - bitterly cold - but he found the frigid Northern air did not affect him as it once had. He had... _died_ \- yes, he supposed there was only one way to put it - only a few days ago, and ever since waking alone on that rough table he felt as if he were walking in a dream. A heavy haze clouded his vision and his thoughts. Perhaps he was dreaming. Perhaps he was dead and this was how it felt to walk in the heavens. Or, considering the circumstances, most likely hell.

The Void was the only thing that assured him he walked in the living world now. That...emptiness haunted him. It had grabbed and enveloped every fiber of his being and still clung to him, refusing to let him go. How is a man supposed to continue on when he knows the truth of what waits beyond this life? The only mystery left now remained here in this world. The magic. The nature. Wondering what occurred in the mind of another. That was still unknown. That was worth living for, he had to remind himself. Not what met him in The Void.

 _Was that what ailed him?_ he wondered. _Was he afraid of sleeping?_ It was too much like death.

“Can you not sleep?” he heard. Ghost spun sharply, taken by surprise despite the wolf’s keen ears.  
  
_Sansa._

Her red hair looked almost black in the darkness, but it was her, he knew. The red witch was taller and more sharp in her stance. Sansa stood softly, her hands clasped tight around her arms, hugging herself for warmth. He wondered how he could have ever mistaken her for anyone else. When he first saw her in the courtyard when those worn gates crept open he had thought, if only for a brief second, that she might have been Ygritte. Silly now, when he fully looked at her. Silly considering everything else, as well.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. There were many men in these walls. Dark men. Bad men. Men who had not seen a pretty girl in weeks. Men who had well established their willingness to kill. Where was Brienne? Sansa shivered slightly, as if in response to his warning, but ignored it nonetheless.

“I couldn’t sleep,” was all she said in answer. She held her palm up from within her cloak for Ghost to sniff. Jon noticed a shadow across her wrist, a dark cloudy bruise that crawled up and disappeared into her sleeve. _What had happened to her?_

Ghost warily took a step towards her, and Jon found himself encouraging the direwolf silently. _Your sister,_ he thought. _This one belonged to your sister._ Ghost licked her hand, his massive tongue lapping up her wrist.

“He’s grown so much. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” She wiped the saliva off on her breeches. _Mine_ , Jon silently corrected. He had given her his recruit clothes to warm up in. It was a wonder she had made the journey at all. The grey dress she arrived in was thin, torn and soaking her to the bone. Not attire made for travel this far North. His black pants and tunic swallowed her thin frame, skinny from the trek North, but it was all he had.

She pulled his thin black cloak tighter across her shoulders, craning her neck up to follow the length of the Wall as far as she could see. “It’s so much bigger than I imagined.”

Jon followed her gaze. He remembered when he had first seen the Wall. How it filled him with awe. He remembered standing on the top and thinking there was nothing else like it in the world. Even when he had scaled to the top with Ygritte, adrenaline rushing through his veins from nearly escaping death, it held a magic that was never duplicated. That was a lifetime ago now, but seeing Sansa admiring it renewed some feeling that he worried had died with him.

“The stories don’t do it justice,” she sighed, dropping her eyes back down. Jon did not know what to say. He found himself as lifeless and still as that giant ice wall and just as welcoming. _The stories..._ he bitterly thought. _The stories that brought me here. The stories that brought me death and pain._

“Uncle Benjen,” she started, and Jon’s heart fell yet again. She said the name so sadly, and Jon had to force himself to remember _He was her uncle, too._ “He did try to tell us. I didn’t believe him.”

Jon had told her Uncle Benjen was missing earlier when he had given her his clothes and some poor man’s soup to warm up with. She didn't react to the news, only responding with a sad nod. Jon had taken that to mean she was not as close to him as the other children were, that she did not grieve their uncle the way he did, but the pain in her voice now said otherwise. “I think he was happy here,” Jon said, somehow trying to reassure her that it wasn’t all misery for the men of the Night's Watch or their uncle.

Again, she didn’t linger. “Can I see it?” There was an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eye as she changed the subject quickly.

“There’s not much to see at night.” Unless she wanted to brave fierce winds at the top for merely a black view. He wasn’t very keen on going up there again. The novelty had worn off long ago, and truly he had gone for a walk to be alone.

“It won’t be night for long,” she said softly as Ghost padded silently away from her to chase a scent downwind. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“In the air. It’s almost dawn.”

Feeling the dawn? What madness was that? Yet suddenly, he could. There was a silent crackle and lightness to the air, as if the black shroud of night was slipping away. There was no light peeking up from the horizon yet, but he could feel that the darkness was almost over. By the time they made it to the top, dawn would likely be breaking.

He considered his options. He had come outside wanting to be alone, left to his own thoughts in the cold and dark. And he was no longer a Black Brother, no longer a watcher on the wall. He didn’t know what he was, if he were honest. No one would stop him from going where he pleased - some of them still refused to call him anything other than Lord Commander - but this place wasn’t _his_ anymore. Maybe he needed to see it one last time before he left. Say goodbye to this dreadful place properly.

“Alright,” he said finally. “But you’ll need more than a cloak.”

She followed him to his chambers, where he threw her a pair of brown leather gloves and rabbit lined hood. Nothing matched and the girl who had always loved those fancy dresses looked perfectly absurd in the clashing colors and sizes, but that was all they had in the Night’s Watch. Nothing ever fit just perfectly, and they never could afford to throw out old items simply because they were made to fit a man four times the size of the average recruit. Sansa didn’t complain, tucking her red hair under the hood. She fidgeted in place, eager to be at the top of the Wall already, as he grabbed his own gear.

They shared a comfortable silence, neither one speaking as he led her to the lift. She observed everything he did, from him skipping the rotten stair to pulling the rusty lever or latching the doors, and Jon was grateful most of the men weren’t out wandering the grounds this late. Or, rather, this early. He didn’t want to see them any more than he absolutely had to right now.

The sky slowly shifted on their ascent. Blacks were replaced with dusky pale blues, and as the sky lit up so did her complexion. He glanced over subtlety and watched her pale face begin to glow in the low light. Her eyes were fixed forward, her mouth dropped open just a little bit. As they rose higher and higher over the ground, the castle below shrinking to be but a bundle of rocks and sticks, he saw her drink it all in as he had when he was a green boy. The view had become mundane to him over the years, but it was nice to see it in someone else’s eyes.

“Is that Mole’s Town there?” she asked.

He broke his stare to glance out. “Aye. Just barely.”

“What do the men do up here?”

“Keep watch.” _Freeze their balls off._ “Sound the alarm if anything approaches. One for Rangers. Two for Wildlings.” _Three for Walkers._

“But you led hundreds of Wildlings past the Wall.”

Jon smiled bitterly. “I wasn’t very good at my job.”

Sansa didn’t laugh at the joke. Her eyes grew sad and her mouth tightened into a line. “Jon, I-“ she faltered, biting her tongue on something she wanted to say. He hadn’t meant to ruin the mood. He had told her what had happened - how could he not? But he did not want to talk about it. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Despite her reluctance, she spat it out. “I saw a man in King's Landing. He was there to take recruits back to the Night’s Watch.” _Yoren,_ Jon figured. “No man volunteered to join willingly. He had to take men and boys from the dungeons. His clothes were...less than ideal and he looked so unwell.” _Sounds about right,_ Jon thought.

“I thought of you.” That admission took Jon off guard. “He was nothing like Uncle Benjen or the stories. The men he took with him even less so. They were nothing of what I had imagined.” Jon didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. She was only telling him something he already knew. “I prayed for you.”

Jon froze. Sansa... _had prayed for him?_ Prayed for what exactly? He wasn’t used to her favor, but he found himself oddly touched by the admission. She had thought of him when he had willingly cast himself out of that family and she was betrothed to another. Some days he wondered if the Starks ever thought of him again once they parted.

She shook her head. “What a silly thing - but I did. I felt sorry that the Night’s Watch was filled with criminals and beggars. I felt sorry that the Night's Watch was not as noble as I had once believed. I felt sorry you were here.”

Jon smiled softly to himself. Sweet Sansa. If only prayers worked. “But what did you pray for, exactly?”

He could see her cheeks flush red in the low light. “For mercy.”

“Mercy?” Was he really that pitiable?

“I thought if you were anything like me, that you would have been disappointed that the Watch was not what we were led to believe. You were stuck here, while I was stuck there.”

Ah. It appears Sansa knows him better than he thought. And he didn’t know what to think of that. “Well, we are together now. That’s all that matters.”

The lift reached the top and stopped with a loud groan. Pulling the gates open, he was mindful of where Sansa stepped, and then led them further down the narrow path, away from any prying eyes or curious ears. Though earlier he had wanted to be alone, somehow, _now_ , he wanted to be alone with her. When they reached a dug out a dozen paces from the last Watcher, they stopped. Just then, pink light crested over the horizon. They had made it just in time to see the dawn.

What was black darkness only moments before slowly faded into view. Mountains and valleys and tiny rock towers illuminated into visible shapes. Her eyes were filled with wonder. For several moments she did not speak. She only stared south, surveying the wide expanse that stretched farther than the eye could see. Lands that had once belonged in their family. Lands their ancestors had walked on. The lands she had crossed to get to him. It all looked so small and peaceful from way up here.

He could not help but smile at her refreshing awe. It was a welcome change to the usual dreary attitude held by many who were sent here as punishment. Somehow those rapists and thieves never saw the beauty. Just as Sansa said she had thought of him, he had thought of her once or twice, too. He had imagined what her reaction to the enchantments of this place might be. It appears he knew her better than he thought, as well.

“Has anyone ever fallen off?”

Stories of desperate men throwing themselves off to escape their sentences flashed through his head, but Jon answered, “Not that I know of.” Why did he lie to her? Why could he not tell her the gruesome truth even when she asked? All he could reason, is that he did not want to wipe that look of pure innocence off her face. He did not want to hurt her. She had learned the harsh truth about the stories of her childhood well enough; he saw no need to darken them anymore.

The sky slowly shifted, changing colors and turning into a new day. They stood silently for several long moments, and Jon was surprised at how natural it felt sharing a silence with her. It was as if a small piece of him had been missing for so long and it had returned with her. His home. His family.

She apparently could feel it, too. “We have to go home,” she said quietly, little more than a whisper.

His mood was broken. Sourly he remembered her words from earlier - declaring her intention to take Winterfell back, with or without him. He had not given her an answer yet. He had not agreed, but he had not refused either. The idea was gnawing in the back of his mind, an annoying little rat refusing to leave.

This was his chance to leave all that behind. He could head South, to warmer weather, and start anew. He didn’t have to be Eddard Stark's bastard son anymore. He didn’t have to be Jon Snow The Fighter. The Killer. The Traitor. The Crow. The Lord Commander. The Corpse. He had been killed by his own men trying to do what he thought was right. Perhaps the gods were trying to tell him that was a foolish mission. He had almost listened to them. Just as he was dreaming of a new life, Sansa had appeared and suddenly he didn’t know what he wanted.

Father would haunt him forever if he abandoned Sansa; he knew that was true. Robb, too. Could he even forgive himself? For a moment he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to wish her well, turn his back to the North and never look back. But standing up here, above the lands that once belonged to the Starks, he knew what Robb would do. Sansa had reminded him that he still had a family, no matter any oath he took. Rickon. Arya. Bran. He may not have been a Stark, but he was the blood of Winterfell, whether he liked it or not. _I have always wanted it..._

“We have no forces…” he tried to dissuade her, once again. Perhaps a bit selfishly. Stannis tried to take back Winterfell and failed. How could they fare any better?

Shocked, Sansa turned so quick to look at him he had to reach out and grab her arm to keep her from falling off the edge. That look of pure hope in her face had him. He was a goner.

“The North doesn’t want Ramsay. They will fight against him. I swear it.” The wind blew tendrils of her hair out from under her hood, and they whipped like licks of flame across her face as she spoke. The light was turning warmer now, but the air was no less cold. She spoke with such determination, her voice so much stronger and deeper than the Sansa he remembered. “We are the only ones who can. We can rally support to take back our home.”

Jon scoffed. “A daughter and a bastard?” Sansa raised an eyebrow, offended.

“There have been more impossible things.”

 _Low blow,_ he thought. But she was right. How could he stand here and be doubtful when he had literally been brought back from the dead?

“I will try it alone if you make me, but I need your help,” she continued. “You look the most like Father. You are the eldest living son. You know fighting. They’ll listen to you. They would insist on my marriage to their sons before they agree to fight for me.” Jon reacted to that statement with a sudden possessiveness, and it took him by surprise. The idea of her having to marry to reclaim her home repulsed him. He had an advantage over her in that aspect, he agreed. He had no name to give away. After her two husbands already, he did not want her to have to take another one. He would not put her through that.

“You won’t have to.” Jon sighed but couldn’t meet her eye. He watched the horizon, searching for whatever world awaited out there that was warmer, golden, and new. That was never for him, he realized. He couldn’t leave Sansa again. He knew it the moment he laid eyes on her. The moment he felt that sense of long-lost home in her arms. “I’ll help you. We’ll get Winterfell back.” She smiled, a prettier smile than he had seen in several months, and he was glad to have brought her some joy.

Some say it's better to die for honor than die a fool, but Jon suddenly found himself wondering what it meant to die for both.

Was this part of her plan? Did Sansa drag him up here to see the importance of her quest? If so, he fell for it blindly. He could not refuse now. Not when the wide expanse of Westeros made him feel so small and unimportant way up here. This was bigger than him. And gods save him, he was going to help her.


End file.
